


Capable

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: BDSM, Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Play, Rope Bondage, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Giriko realizes real fast that he has misjudged the situation." Giriko questions Justin's ability to dominate him and Justin answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capable

Giriko realizes real fast that he has misjudged the situation.

He’s not trying to provoke a fight; that’s the ironic part. Justin’s moving around the house doing...whatever it is Justin does, something productive or shit like that, and Giriko is thinking out loud in an attempt to win a hiss or a laugh from the blond. He’s wandered onto the topic of Justin age, which isn’t dangerous in itself, but it draws him down onto the subject that ultimately is his undoing.

“Seriously though, thirteen years old?” he’s shouting to Justin in the other room, and the priest laughs loud enough that Giriko just catches the sound. “I can’t believe they sent you out as a Death Weapon that young. God, I would have laughed in your face if you had come after me.”

“A lot of people did,” Justin says as he comes back into the room. He’s got something in his hands, a book and a stack of papers, and he’s shuffling through the paper without looking at Giriko directly. “It was the last thing they did, in most cases.” He sets the book on the coffee table without taking his eyes off the envelopes in his hand. “It wore off a couple years ago.”

“What, you mean no one laughs at you now?” Giriko teases, pushing himself up on one elbow on the couch. “You’re still just a skinny blond teenager for all your robes, you don’t have an ounce of natural intimidation in you.”

“Mm.” Justin’s tone indicates he’s listening without any hint of agreement. “I held my own against you well enough.”

“Not anymore you don’t,” Giriko grins. “Though I could show you if you don’t remember which of us is in charge.”

Justin’s eyebrows come up and he finally looks at the chainsaw, cutting his eyes sideways and laughing. “I think you’re confusing combat and a consenting relationship, Giriko. Not that it’d be the first time.”

Giriko scoffs and rolls over onto his back, one arm still folded behind his head as a pillow. “You couldn’t dominate me if you  _wanted_  to.”

When he looks back at the situation in his memory, that’s what did it. It’s clear in the way Justin’s shoulders go stiff and his whole head actually turns towards the chainsaw, the way his hand with the papers comes down like he’s forgotten to hold it up. At the moment he speaks, though, Giriko’s grinning at the ceiling and thinking about getting Justin’s clothes off, and he misses the subtle signs.

“You don’t think I’d come out on top?”

Justin’s tone is deceptively casual, calm and steady like he’s just asking for clarification. Giriko laughs sharply and shifts into a more comfortable angle on the couch.

“I’m sayin’ you  _couldn’t_.” He enunciates the word carefully so no part of his meaning is lost. “Not without the element of surprise, and you’d lose that real fast.”

There’s a pull, a jerk of gravity sideways and up, and Giriko hits the floor  _hard_ , lands on his hip so hard it startles a yell of pain from him even before he’s realized that Justin has a fistful of his shirt and a foot angled against his waist.

“Ow!” he yelps, and then Justin is so close to his face that he’s flinching back instinctively from the intrusion into his personal space. “What the  _fuck_  was that?”

“ _Can’t_?” Justin says, hissing the word like it has a lot more sibilants than it actually does. His eyes are clear and cold and show absolutely no sign of the heat of irritation under his words and it is one of the more terrifying things Giriko has ever seen. “I  _can’t_  dominate you, is that what you said?” Giriko realizes he is on the floor; judging from the hand in his shirt Justin pulled him off, but he doesn’t  _remember_  the blond moving at all, doesn’t have any idea how the smaller man managed to drag him off the couch like he weighed nothing at all.

“What?” Giriko says again, hazy with confusion. Justin’s foot tucks under his hip, and before he has a chance to react he’s moving  _again_ , flipping forward so he’s facedown on the floor, and all of Justin’s weight is in the small of his back. There’s a hand against his shoulder pushing him down and another fisting in his hair to pull his head back so his throat is suddenly strained and it’s hard to take a breath.

“Say it again.” Justin’s voice is weirdly resonant with authority, rumbling in a way that goes all down Giriko’s spine like a touch. The chainsaw swallows hard, twists his hands flat on the floor in an attempt to push up, but Justin leans forward to press Giriko’s shoulder down and the chainsaw doesn’t move anywhere even though he  _should_ , he  _ought_  to be able to throw Justin off without any trouble.

“Tell me again.” The words are cold and icy and they  _shouldn’t_  be running through Giriko’s blood like fire. “Tell me  _again_ , Giriko, how I can’t dominate you.”

There are several things that Giriko thinks. One is that he had no idea Justin was so  _heavy_. Another is that he wasn’t intending to get this reaction. But the last -- the reckless one -- is that he is  _intrigued_ , and he has been really terrible at  _not_  listening to the voice of interest. There’s not a lot that surprises him anymore, after all; he has to take advantage of those things that  _do_.

So he swallows hard, and shoves just to make a point, and he’s grinning when he says, “You  _can’t_  dominate me,  _Justin_.”

“Really.” The hand in his hair lets go and he drops his head forward to take a deep breath. Narrow fingers close around his wrist for a moment before there is the tingle-tell of a weapon-shift and the fragility of bone reforms into the weight of steel around Giriko’s wrist. Justin moves, startlingly quick again, his hand and weight lifting in one moment. Giriko rolls, twisting sharp to get his weight under him again because this is a  _fight_ , now, but Justin’s still got the cuff around his arm, and when the chainsaw pulls with all his strength the priest just rocks back and looks unimpressed.

“Cute,” he offers, and that’s a flare of anger as well as interest in Giriko’s blood. The chainsaw hisses and Justin smiles. It doesn’t touch his eyes at all and, yes, that’s all interest again.

“Come on,” he says, with no recognition of Giriko’s prone position, and he starts moving before Giriko can even consider not-reacting to the implied order. Justin’s hold on his arm jerks painfully at his shoulder; Giriko hisses and twists to relieve the pressure and then he’s  _sliding_  across the floor, Justin is just  _dragging_  his weight like it’s nothing. He’d be impressed if it didn’t  _hurt_  so damn much, but it does and he scrambles to his feet while Justin doesn’t slow, so by the time he’s got his balance under him he’s moving forward in the priest’s wake like a fucking  _dog._

“Fuck you,” he hisses, and reaches out with his free hand to get a handful of blond hair.

The angle is all wrong for a reaction, he  _should_  be coming straight from Justin’s blind spot, but the priest pivots on one foot and slaps the chainsaw’s incoming hand away with stinging force. The fingers of his free hand close tight around Giriko’s wrist while the chainsaw is still hissing from the snap of pain, though Justin doesn’t bother changing into shackle-form for his second hand. For a breath they stand still in the hallway, Justin staring flat and cold at Giriko with their arms crisscrossed between them.

Then Justin sighs and says, “I’d rather not knock you out to make my point, as I’d need to wait for you to regain consciousness and I’m not sure I’d not break your nose, but I can if you’d prefer.”

Giriko gapes at the blond, wordless with shock for a moment. Justin tips his head back, just barely, and Giriko didn’t know he could recognize a headbutt before it comes but it turns out he  _can_ , his whole body tries to flinch back from the impending impact.

“Yes, okay,” he blurts before he can think through the surrender. He doesn’t think he’d be  _able_  to say it if he did think about it, broken nose or not, but the adrenaline rushing into him is saying  _flight_  for the first time in  _years_  and it seizes control of his voice before he can stop it.

Justin smiles, and tips his head, and lets Giriko’s hand go. “Good.” He turns away, like the issue is fully resolved, and when he keeps walking and Giriko keeps trailing him the chainsaw realizes that it  _is_.

The priest doesn’t let Giriko go until they reach the bedroom, and then he does it so abruptly that Giriko has the full use of his hands for almost a minute before he processes what’s going on. He doesn’t call his chains up, for one thing because he doesn’t want to  _actually_  hurt Justin but also because he wants the satisfaction of pummeling the blond with just his fists, but he lunges across the room without giving the priest the warning of a curse this time.

Justin doesn’t anticipate the attack this time -- Giriko gets his hand around the blond’s shoulder, angles his arm fully around the priest’s throat, and for a wild moment he thinks he’s won. But he keeps moving forward, much farther than he expects, and just as his body is panicking about its spiraling center of gravity and flinching from the impending collision with the ground he hits the mattress instead. The shock of a soft impact rather than a hard one is almost more irritating than hitting the floor would be, and while he’s still recovering from that Justin slides away and out of contact for a moment.

“What the fuck,” Giriko starts to say as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, but he only has time to locate Justin, moving in towards his ankle, before the blond pulls hard against his leg and drags him sideways on the bed. “Ow!”

“Shut up,” Justin says, still in that ice-cold Death Weapon tone, and Giriko’s mouth closes automatically. The priest is looping cord around his ankle -- where did he even  _get_  that -- and has knelt down to tie it to the corner of the bedframe before Giriko has entirely processed what’s happening.

“Hey, wait, what are you --” he starts as Justin ties off the knot and comes back up, and he swings himself forward to reach for the tie against his ankle.

The impact across his face is more startling than it is painful, and it is  _very_  painful. Giriko stops moving entirely in favor of drawing a hand up to cover the sting of Justin’s fingers on his skin, and Justin grips the chainsaw’s other ankle and jerks his leg out to the other corner of the frame while Giriko is briefly stalled out.

“Woah, wait, what the  _fuck_  Justin?” Giriko manages. He can  _feel_ the individual fingers coming up in red pain across his skin. “Did you just  _slap_  me?”

“You were resisting,” Justin says calmly. “I’m sorry, were there other restrictions upon my actions to subdue you?” He ties off the second bond and comes up to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Uh,” Giriko says.

Justin’s smile touches his eyes this time, or maybe it’s that the ice in his eyes bleeds into the sharp corners of his smile. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He grabs one of Giriko’s wrists in one hand and shoves the chainsaw flat to the bed with his other, climbing up onto the mattress so he can straddle the other weapon’s torso.

It shouldn’t be a turn-on. Giriko prides himself on his dominance, on being in control, and if tying  _Justin_  up drives him crazy the opposite should be true, this should be  _nothing_  like appealing. But when the blond leans forward to loop the cord around the headboard it draws the front of his jeans awfully close to Giriko’s mouth, and the chainsaw’s cock doesn’t think to check in with rationality before it starts to go hard.

Giriko himself doesn’t really think through his movement when he comes forward; he still has one hand free, at least, and he takes advantage of the angle and Justin’s apparently precarious balance to grab the priest’s ass and pull him forward so he half-falls against Giriko’s mouth. When the chainsaw opens his mouth and blows hot against the thick denim of the other’s jeans he can feel how hard  _Justin_  is too, can feel the priest buck forward against the contact in the moment before he recollects where he is.

He does remember, though, and a hand comes down to tangle into the chainsaw’s hair again and force his head back down to the mattress.

“ _No_ ,” Justin hisses, and Giriko laughs, because he  _has_  lost already and if he’s going to go down he’s going to have fun doing it. “ _I_  decide what we do, you need to  _wait_.” He wiggles free of Giriko’s hold and pins the chainsaw’s arm out with more force than is necessary, and when Giriko groans in protest he lets the grunt of pain go a little darker than it needs to in his throat. He’s watching for it, this time, so he sees the flicker of Justin’s eyes to his face. The priest doesn’t smile -- his mouth is still fixed in concentration -- and his hold doesn’t falter, but his breath stutters for a moment, and Giriko grins and lets the blond finish tying him down without more futile struggle.

“What’re you going to do to me?” he asks as Justin comes up from the last knot. “You left my clothes on. You planning on just leaving me here to reflect on my sins?”

“I could cut them off you,” Justin says, tone perfectly calm, and Giriko’s breath goes dead for a moment. “But I’m not going to.” His fingers come down to the front of the chainsaw’s pants and he opens the button one-handed, a twist of fingers and thumb that presses what feels like accidental pressure against the chainsaw’s cock. “I don’t need that much access anyway.” He’s not looking at Giriko’s face when he tugs the chainsaw’s clothes down the inches he needs to free the other man’s length from its constraints, and he’s not particularly gentle. Elastic catches and tugs down until Giriko hisses in pain, and then his boxers come free and Justin turns away without even  _touching_  him, barely pausing to  _look_.

Giriko makes a whine of protest, twists his head up as far as he can get it off the bed as Justin slides sideways to stand next to the mattress. “Hey, don’t  _go_ , you fucking won, okay? I was wrong, don’t  _leave_  me here.”

Justin turns his back on the chainsaw, but Giriko can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “I’m not  _going_  anywhere, idiot. I like to be comfortable, that’s all.” His shirt hits the floor and he reaches to the front of his pants as he toes his shoes off. Giriko can see the lean muscle across his shoulders shift as he gets his jeans open, and then Justin’s stepping free of the denim and coming back with nothing but creamy skin, and Giriko can’t quite breathe. He’s seen Justin naked before, obviously, but he rarely gets such a clear view, and  _never_  when he’s not already reaching out for the priest. Justin is moving quick, slithering up onto the bed and leaning far across the chainsaw so the taut skin of his stomach brushes against the chainsaw’s cock and Giriko hisses and bucks up for more. Justin is moving too damn  _fast_ , though, straightening almost before he has touched Giriko at all, and he’s not meeting Giriko’s desperate gaze, just sitting back on his heels and looking down at the bottle in his hands like it demands his full attention. Giriko is pretty sure he’s never been more irritated with the lube, particularly since usually it’s a  _good_  sign. But Justin is looking at the bottle, turning it over in his hands like there’s something to see, and after the efficiency of his actions up till now the delay is agonizing.

“For fuck’s sake, Justin,” Giriko says, pulling at the cords. They show no sign of giving way -- he didn’t really expect them too -- but the tension and resistance is a bit of a relief. “You can fuck  _me_  if you just hurry it the  _fuck_  up, wouldn’t that really prove you’re in charge?”

Justin’s eyes flick up to his face and there is a burst of a smile across his features before he reins it back. He catches and holds Giriko’s gaze, the curve still clinging to his lips, and Giriko is so focused on the blue that he twitches in surprise when the priest’s fingers brush against the inside of his thighs, just inside the top of his pulled-down jeans.

“ _Really_.” Justin’s smile is getting wider and looking more dangerous as it does so. “ _Could_  I. I thought you didn’t bottom,  _ever_.”

“I don’t care.” Justin’s thumb is brushing against Giriko’s balls, like an accident, and every touch is sparking heat into Giriko’s veins and not  _quite_  where he wants it. “I don’t care, anything you want,  _please_ , just don’t make me keep  _waiting_.”

“Mm.” Justin draws his hand away and Giriko groans at the loss before he realizes that the blond is working the top of the bottle open with both hands, now. “Well. I appreciate your willingness to capitulate --” he sounds taunting, like he’s accepting tribute from a supplicant, and Giriko can’t even manage to be irritated. “-- But I really would prefer to be riding you. So that’s what we’ll be doing.” He sets the bottle aside, both hands shine-slick with lube, and raises an eyebrow at the chainsaw spread-eagled in front of him. “I hope you don’t have any complaints?”

Giriko shakes his head, quick. “No, no complaints, jesus Justin what do you  _think_?”

Justin laughs. It’s the first natural sound he’s made since flipping Giriko off the couch in the first place.

The second comes when he reaches around behind himself with slippery fingers. Even Justin can’t feign the raw sound in that moan, or the way his face screws up with that very particular look that rides the line between pain and pleasure. Giriko is watching Justin’s face, since he can’t really see what the priest’s hand is doing, but he can feel his cock twitch with another flush of blood in response, and then Justin’s face relaxes into just straight pleasure as his shoulder shifts and Giriko groans and has to look away.

“Fuck,” he blurts, and Justin laughs although Giriko doesn’t dare look at him.

“Sorry,” and that’s breathy enough that Giriko can  _imagine_  his expression, he doesn’t even have to be looking at the blond. “I’m leaving you out,” and then slippery fingers close around him and Giriko whines an inhale as if he’s been hit.

Justin’s fingers are so slippery there’s almost no friction at all, just the slide of lube and a hint of pressure, and the priest isn’t setting any kind of a rhythm, but even with his eyes shut Giriko can tell that the blond’s hand against him is moving in a weird jerky counterpoint to the fingers the priest has inside himself, and the thought is enough to drag his breath choking and too-fast from his lungs. Justin is laughing on almost every exhale; he doesn’t have much air himself, and the sound keeps twisting into a pseudo-moan, but he sounds delighted and thrilled and Giriko just wants his  _hands_  free so he can pull Justin down onto him. As it is he can do nothing of the sort, of course, but he keeps pulling at the restraints anyway, twisting and jerking until he can feel the skin on his wrists rubbing raw and too desperate to care about the marks that will show for days.

Finally Justin’s hand slides away. Giriko takes a breath, so certain of the next action that he doesn’t even protest, and opens his eyes just as Justin leans in, braces himself against the chainsaw’s shirt so he can get a leg up over the older man’s hips and straddle him properly. The blond weighs almost nothing -- Giriko has no idea how he managed to pin the chainsaw to the ground before -- but he barely has a breath to notice this before Justin slides backward and his ass bumps against Giriko’s slick cock. Giriko hisses in a breath, and Justin laughs again, and his hands form into fists to brace himself as he lifts his hips and tilts backward, wiggles to fit himself in place. Giriko rocks up even though he can’t go anywhere, instinct winning out over situational awareness, and he takes a sharp breath of anticipation just as Justin does. There’s a moment of resistance, so he thinks Justin’s fucked up the angle for just a breath; then they slide together, and the priest comes down onto him and Giriko whines at the start of sensation.

It takes several thudding beats of his heart before he realizes that that’s all he is getting, just the  _start_. He whines and pulls again, tries to shove up but he can’t get any traction and can’t get any slack from the cord, and Justin laughs again.

“ _Fuck_  you,” Giriko gasps.

“Language,” Justin chastises, and lowers himself farther before Giriko can manage to form a decent response. The blond’s slick and hot and  _tight_ , he only  _barely_  opened himself up enough, and Giriko is pretty sure he’d be hurting Justin if he had his way because there is  _no_  way he could go this slow if he had his way. But he doesn’t, and Justin  _is_  going that slow, so it’s just an agonizingly delayed rise in sensation, sweeping down his cock and up his spine and into his blood so he’s panting for air by the time Justin has taken all of him in.

Justin pauses at the bottom, lets his hold on Giriko’s shirt go so he can smooth the fabric over the other’s chest, and Giriko can’t look away from the blond’s face but Justin isn’t meeting his eyes. He’s not sure Justin’s seeing  _anything_ , from the blank quality to his stare, and then the priest starts to come back up and Giriko’s not consciously seeing much of anything himself.

Justin doesn’t set a rhythm, per se; he keeps shifting his hands, from shoulder to chest to Giriko’s thigh, at one point, but the movement in his arms keeps shifting his weight and his angle until Giriko can’t even try to thrust up anymore, until the chainsaw subsides against the mattress and tries to remember to breathe semi-regularly through the waves of sensation as Justin moves over him. Eventually fingers settle against his chest, pressing hard into his ribcage through his still-buttoned shirt, and when he tips his chin down Justin’s head is hanging down and his free hand is pumping steady over his length all out of time with the movement of his hips.

Giriko can tell when Justin gets close from the way his movement on the chainsaw’s cock goes jerky and too-fast; Justin doesn’t even allow the illusion that he’s moving for Giriko’s pleasure. His eyes are shut and his lips are parted in concentration while he chases down his own satisfaction; it is clearly fully incidental that part of that involves fucking himself on the chainsaw’s cock. That shouldn’t be hot, either. Giriko should be  _angry_  that Justin is so clearly using him, should be fighting for more control or at least vocally protesting. He’s not. He can barely breathe, can’t get enough moisture into his mouth to speak, and he’s staring at the blond so hard he keeps forgetting to blink. He can see the tension creasing Justin’s forehead, the impending pleasure that catches white teeth against the other man’s lip, and he’s watching the priest’s face when Justin tips his head back and groans wordlessly, cock twitching under his fingers as he comes across Giriko’s shirt and over the fingers splayed on the chainsaw’s chest.

Giriko is close by the time Justin opens his eyes to meet the other weapon’s glazed stare, close enough that he thinks he might come just from Justin sliding off him even if the blond decides to leave him as he is. But the priest shifts his hand from Giriko’s chest to his shoulder, and brings his other hand up to the chainsaw’s lips, and when Giriko opens his mouth he starts to move his hips again, fast and rhythmic this time. Giriko sucks against the fingers in his mouth, traces his tongue to lick Justin’s knuckles clean, and comes hard inside the priest with the salt burn of Justin’s come at the back of his throat.

Justin draws his fingers free as the last of Giriko’s orgasm is rippling through him, sits back on his heels, and waits until the chainsaw’s eyes come back into focus on his face.

“So.” He lifts his hand to his mouth to lick the last of the sticky liquid off his skin and Giriko whimpers. “What were you saying?”

Giriko chokes a laugh. He looks up at the ceiling, doesn’t find any support there, and when he looks back at the priest Justin’s eyebrows are raised and he knows he’s lost.

“You can  _absolutely_  dominate me,” he admits, and Justin smiles warm. “Anytime you want, in fact.”

“I knew I could convince you to see reason,” Justin observes, sliding free.

“Any chance of getting shown reason again?” Giriko asks the ceiling as the priest slips off the bed and starts pulling at the cord around his ankle.

There is a laugh, natural again, and as the restraint comes free damp fingers brush gentle over his ankle. “I’m sure we can manage something.”


End file.
